Understandings
by WMisc
Summary: Nico di Angelo had never really understood. A portion of Nico's story. For ShadowPalace and WindowChild's One-Shot Challenge: Week 7.


_This is not the entirety of Nico's life: this is on purpose. Nico/Bianca, in a sisterly-brotherly way._

* * *

**Understandings**

* * *

Nico di Angelo had never really understood.

From the early age of ten, living it up in the Lotus Hotel and Casino, he followed his older sister Bianca around, not understanding her strange mood swings that happened when she talked, laughed, and _flirted_ with those around her. He didn't understand, but he _did_ realize that those who affected her most were boys, the male species, and he saw that they talked, laughed, and _flirted_ back.

He didn't comprehend when she started crying when one left her for another, but he could see that she _was_ crying, and that was really all that mattered. When she cried, she became someone he didn't know, someone he didn't want to know. He wanted to escape her tears, but the fact was that he _did_ know her, so he tried to stop her sobbing in his best brotherly-way.

But she was hurting, and he hated not being able to help, as much as he tried to do so.

But her tears dried up eventually, and soon, she would find herself another boy, and the whole thing would start over again.

But Nico was starting to understand.

From experience, he saw that it all came down to the boys that Bianca talked with, laughed with. So with his childish logic, he figured that the best way to protect his sister would be to stop the boys from getting near her in the first place. It seemed reasonable to him at the time.

So he glowered and insulted, and he did everything he could to get the people away from her. And it worked, for a time. They left her alone, and proudly, he went to his sister to see how he did.

But she was angry with him, and their subsequent argument ended only with her tears and his guilt for hurting his sister even more. So he stopped meddling, and slowly, slowly, her admirers came back. And she was happy again.

He watched from afar, this time. And he watched as Bianca became happy, sad, happy, sad, hysterical, happy, sad–

And then he stopped watching. He was hurt this time, and he didn't understand. He'd only been trying to help before, and when it had worked, she told him to stop helping. And now, he couldn't help, because that would only hurt his sister even more, but even when he wasn't helping, people around were hurting her as well.

He began to think that he would never be able to stop her from hurting.

He wasn't able to help her without hurting her, protect her without helping her, or love her without protecting her. It was all an endless cycle, doomed to failure.

So he accepted that eventually, everything would fail. That was life.

That was the one thing that he _could_ understand, in a place where he didn't understand anything else.

* * *

They were brought to Westover Hall, and Nico found out suddenly what it felt like for an older sibling to suddenly be dependent on their younger sibling. He wasn't sure if he understood it, but he enjoyed actually being needed for once.

The two of them struggled through the school, and he exulted silently in finally being able to help her, to finally be able to protect her as best as he could. And unlike before, he felt that he could actually _make a difference._ She wouldn't hurt if he could help it–and often times he could. It made him_ happy,_ once in his short life, to protect his big sister. And if she sometimes still pushed him away, or said things to him that he didn't understand–well, at least now, he knew he had her love.

He'd matured, too. He understood a lot more now, in these few months at Westover. He could feel the sharp pricking of something at his conscious mind when he looked at the Mythomagic figurines and cards, something that he had forgotten long ago. He could also feel the sixth sense that told him that something was not right here, in this place, in this school.

But he wasn't worried much. After all, he could protect Bianca from anything. And that was all that mattered.

That was all that he understood.

* * *

Nico noticed the newcomers the instant they walked into the depressingly red and black gym.

There were three of them, one a guy, the other two girls, and he studied their faces intently as they followed Grover Underwood. They had serious expressions on their faces, and their conversation seemed wary as three pairs of eyes roamed the room.

He felt a gaze latch onto him, and then a couple more joined it. The pressure lessened as it moved to his right, to Bianca, and he felt his shoulders stiffen as the natural need to protect her surfaced. He repressed it, and shivered as he felt the air around him turn cold. He looked around and turned to his sister quickly.

He started up a topic he knew she would scold him for, and true to his thoughts, she did. He shuffled the trading cards in his hands, trying to seem contrite as his eyes flicked from side to side. He saw Bianca doing the same; there was something wrong here. They both could sense it.

He snuck a glance at the small group by the door once more. One girl in particular stood out: the blond, grey-eyed girl with owl-earrings and a sharp-eyed look. He studied her with some interest, and decided eventually that she looked nice. _For a girl, _he thought.

And then she and the black-haired, green-eyed boy moved to the dance floor, as well as the less-interesting black-haired, blue-eyed girl and Grover. He shrugged, and without regret, dropped his gaze from them. After all, it had just been a fleeting thought. At least he could be sure that this black-haired companion of hers wouldn't harm his sister. It gave him some comfort, and he relaxed a little.

Dr. Thorn appeared by their side, seemingly out of nowhere. He started, but the man's hands were immediately at his neck, yanking at his collar, effectively choking anything he could've thought to say in that moment. _Come with me._ His voice echoed around in his mind, transmitted weakly through his suddenly ringing ears.

He shook his head numbly and turned to Bianca to see her doing the same thing. And then a growl, almost inhuman in its roughness, and he was pulled to the gym doors and away from the noise.

It grew dark around him. His hand instinctively grabbed his sister's, and he squeezed. At least he knew that he could protect her now. And he was relieved, relieved beyond relief, that he wasn't alone.

And maybe she understood his tight hold on her, because she squeezed back, and he felt the pressure of love_._

* * *

Nico, for the first time, felt lost.

Before, he had always had a sense of purpose: to protect his sister. Because there had been nobody else but him to protect her, and he'd gotten used to being needed even when he wasn't wanted.

But now, things were different.

He looked at the one full table in the pavilion for what must've been the third time in three minutes. They were all eating, drinking, and laughing, smiles erupting around and playing games.

Bianca and Chiron had both explained the Hunters of Artemis to him earlier. Immortality, the chance to have one big family of girls all your age… He'd found it to be just a clever way to make him feel (not for the first time) that anything he did to protect his sister was worthless, because she'd found so many replacements for him.

He glanced over again. Bianca was arm-wrestling with a tough girl who nonetheless was friendly to her. And he resented it all, the friendliness that they showed her, because it only encouraged her to stay away from her younger brother.

His frown grew. One of the brothers beside him noticed–Travis, he believed his name was–and nudged him with an elbow as they shuffled cards in front of his face.

He said some words about cheering up that Nico didn't hear. When the older camper didn't desist, the ten-year old glared at him, and something about his scowl made Travis scoot away from him quickly in alarm.

Something dark seemed to stir in him. He shifted uneasily, and pressed a hand to his chest. He suddenly heard a scream, far off. It echoed around in his mind.

He looked around hastily, checking to see if someone had heard it as well. According to all the calm, indifferent faces, he guessed that they hadn't.

But his gaze was drawn to his sister, and her hands were pressed to her eyelids, covering them. He watched as the other girls asked her what was wrong. She shook her head, and her eyes met his.

They could both sense that something was wrong. They'd both heard that distant scream in their minds, and it seemed that nobody had.

And despite being startled, Nico was relieved. At least, although he couldn't protect her, he could still count on their bond as siblings. He understood that.

And that, at the very least, was better than nothing.

* * *

Nico hid behind a column, not daring to breathe, and peeked out at the figures of two girls talking quietly, attention completely focused on listening to their conversation.

He knew that he shouldn't be doing this. But it was, despite her having left him and joined the Hunters, his duty to protect his sister. And that was what he was doing. He was protecting Bianca from Zoë and all of the other people who could harm her.

Their conversation was unintelligible to him, almost. But he knew enough to know that they weren't discussing some idle gossip. They were talking about the prophecy, and, well, he was interested in this new world of his that he was sucked into.

He prepared to run after his sister when the haughty girl and Bianca fled the scene, but he was immediately stopped by an invisible voice. He looked around, confused, and saw the black-haired boy from before appear from thin air. Percy Jackson, he knew now. And with that name, he remembered a larger, greater prophecy he'd overheard about, and experienced the curious sensation of overwhelming relief.

He eventually managed to extract a promise from the bewildered Percy to keep his sister safe, and he watched him run for a few meters, and then disappear from all eyes. The crooked smile that had appeared on Nico's face fell, and he sighed heavily.

Bianca was gone. But at least he could understand that she would be as safe as she could be away from him.

He was counting on Percy Jackson to bring her back, alive and well.

* * *

Nico rubbed his forehead. The screams that he had been hearing, the harsh rulings that some unknown voices were giving without sympathy somewhere were bothering him. They were getting worse, the longer he stayed here in Camp Half-Blood.

The camp itself was fine, honestly. Even if the other campers had some aversion for him, they still made an effort to be friendly, and he was just… fine. He just missed his sister.

He understood that quests took a while to complete. But he just wished that they would hurry up, and he could have his sister back.

His Mythomagic cards and figurines lay abandoned somewhere in the camp, scattered all around. For some reason, all of the faces of the remarkably similar figurines felt dead to him, as if there was no connection. And he knew that none of them was his Olympian parent.

He only had one figurine missing. He thought about asking others, but somewhere in him, he felt that childish games were over for him. After all, the game was his life now.

And for once in his life, he wished that he could stop playing, and get back to reality.

* * *

Nico stood in the pavilion, eyes red-rimmed and his hand closed into a fist around the last figurine.

It all made sense now, to him. The nightmares telling him, the thoughts, the nerve-wracking screams and cold words. He stared at the plastic face, and felt a small, cold connection to it that Nico wished wasn't there.

His sister was dead. All because of some stupid quest, this stupid quest to save some stupid goddess that had stupidly gotten herself captured. _Bianca is dead._

He could feel his sister standing in the Fields of Asphodel, being judged without him there to protect her. And he hated it, hated how when he couldn't protect his sister, she had needed to be protected.

Well. Not anymore.

And he hated that. Useless him, once again. The worthless ten-year old who was good-for nothing.

He ran, and the words he wanted to utter (of _pain_, of _death_) whirled in his mind as he tried to suppress the anger and hatred for one Percy Jackson.

He ran because for once, he understood. And of course, it was the one time he wished it didn't.

* * *

Nico saw the tombstones around him with his own eyes, and he refused to think that _he_ was _here_, of all places, while on the run.

He guessed that they wouldn't send demigods after him, needing all the ones that they could get. He understood, and appreciated it.

He continued to run from every place he stayed at for more than a week. So far, he'd had nothing tying him to his father that kept him from leaving each new stay. But maybe this was the place.

He looked down at the simply marked grave, something that only he, a child of Hades, would have been able to see.

_Maria di Angelo,_ it read, a small plaque by the depression in the land. _Loved and mourned by the Lord of the Dead._

Nico felt a shiver overcome him, and he didn't bother resisting. He knew there was no body in that grave–that his father had taken it to the Underworld–but the whole thing was positively creepy. This grave, made over seventy years before, was still here and visible. While he, ten when he should have been at least eighty, was here, looking at his mother's grave in a dreary graveyard in the middle of nowhere.

He turned around and didn't look back.

* * *

He was eleven now. The difference of one year had made all the difference.

Ancient Greek was almost a second language to him now. He conversed with the dead in the language, and he called up the dead in the same language. And when he traveled, he stayed out of sight of mortals, so he had no chance to practice English once more.

The ghost beside him chattered about death, blood, and souls. He gritted his teeth as its whiny voice ripped through into his mind and struggled to concentrate on the task at hand. He snapped his fingers, and dismissed the skeleton grave-diggers with a few uttered words. They collapsed.

The dead soon came after that, almost instinctively. It was instinct to him to call up them and instinct to speak to them. He hated that he had to do it, but he would do almost anything for his sister.

And this, of course, was for his sister.

It was all always for his sister, wasn't it?

For the first time, Nico felt some doubt in his actions. His whole life had been dedicated to keeping his sister safe. He'd done almost nothing for himself… and besides, wouldn't staying in the Underworld be safer for her? After all, the land above was full of hidden surprises, while in Hades' realm, you at least knew you were dead already.

It flickered in him, but hastily, he pushed it away and continued with keeping the dead away as Theseus looked at him almost pityingly. He looked at him as if he knew what Nico was thinking, and that scared him.

It was almost a relief when the dead disappeared of their own will, and he ran away once more, safe in his knowledge that he could–and would–save Bianca.

And in the unknown world where he didn't understand anything… he understood this.

Nico didn't want to let go of his understandings.

* * *

What had hurt Nico the most was that Bianca, his sister, the only one he could relate to, could know what to tell him–true or not–to open the festering wound in his chest.

Her ghost, looking exactly as she had alive, had been sad, and he ached to protect her once more, but something stopped him from approaching her too closely.

Maybe he had been too close to ghosts for too long, and knew that she was a ghost when he saw her. He looked at her flickering form, and couldn't find it possible to pretend that she was still living.

She told him that he was mad at _her_, and not at Percy, and he couldn't find it in him to disagree that much. All this time, his hatred had been directed at the only one he had ever loved… and she was dead. He felt empty.

Maybe she was right, that he was mad at her for leaving him, in both death and choices. She'd left him alone… the only one in the world who could relate to himself.

_Don't try. If you love me, don't._

He didn't understand how Bianca, even in death, couldn't understand that love wouldn't let him _not_ try. And he did love her… so he had to try. And he had tried.

He'd asked her to stay, but she had refused. And the words that got stuck in his throat, she never got to hear.

_I love you._

Nico stood underneath the cold full moon and hated himself for realizing that Bianca had been right all along.

* * *

He was the ghost king. It was a title that he found… interesting – and more than a little scary.

Nico lurked in the shadows by the pavilion, envying the easy chatter of those eating, and yet not caring.

He couldn't believe now that he had refused Daedalus' offer to reclaim his sister. It seemed impossible, that he should refuse something that he'd been looking for ever since her death. Instead, he'd released his spirit, and said himself that Bianca had to stay where she was.

It was insane. But, of course, he understood that all of Hades' children were probably crazy anyways, and this was nothing different.

He knew that this craziness that came from it all wouldn't endear him to anybody in the camp, either, so he had shaken his head when offered any food, refreshment, or seating arrangements. He wouldn't be welcome. He made his plans for leaving brief and swift.

Later, he summoned Bianca di Angelo and said good-bye. She had smiled, understanding him, and he understanding her. And he'd felt closer to her than ever before, when she was a ghost and he was alive, and she'd faded.

His drive to protect his sister was gone, because he finally understood that she was the safest that she could get–in the Underworld, in Elysium. It was instead replaced by a desire to find out his past, and–a small, small desire for the moment–about his mother.

Nico had walked away from the camp without regret, and with a small figurine in his pocket.

_Maybe it's okay to still be a kid once in a while._

_And,_ he added silently, _maybe it's okay to give up sometimes._

Those words echoed around in his mind until he reached the waters of the Styx, and finally, let his old wishes and dreams pour into its foggy waters.

He was finally free.

* * *

Nico di Angelo had never really understood.

_But,_ he thinks, _not everything is meant to be understood._

* * *

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own, nor will I ever.

_A one-shot for ShadowPalace and WindowChild's One-Shot Challenge, Week 7. Bianca is OOC (out of character) because of character development: if Bianca had been elaborated on in the actual books, she surely would've had some character development. How it relates to this is that perhaps she'd changed to become her caring self. Just a way of thought is all._


End file.
